Just Keep Breathing
On your last breath, how strong would you be? How long could/would you keep swimming, IF it meant you would live to breath one-more-day? Let’s think Titanic gone Gods of the Galaxy, taking down the bad in Harry Potter…where in the world could I be going with this one? Um’-On, Daisy…Get real, already - this is Dora Finding Nemo. What I am saying - asking rather - is when you are at your very lowest/scariest/hardest/weakest moment - in a sink-or-swim scenario - how far would you be able to swim? Well, because I’m me, and we are - healing-while-writing/reading (and I had me a mini-painting therapy sesh since I started this…) Anyways, think with me…go back to Disney and how we prepare our kids for their first dream crush (Rudolph <= Santa.)…only to keep crushing their creative_and_ever_so_growing brains as they turn into teenagers. Eventually those kids have to fly - with or without us - and as parents, we gotta teach our babes how to fly - Because at some point, they are going flyn with or without your ass.
Now keep rolling…backwards. As adults, we can’t continue to blame our parents for doing their damn best, with what they had at the time. That’s the thing with trauma - it exists within generations. And it exists within science…and education…and learning from the past. At some point, our parents have to become our friends….even though we are born-braised-and-raised to believe the opposite is true. My past kept me from allowing myself the opportunity to let go of some other things (aka - let your brain run wild with me, I’ve lost a lot), like missing people - my ol’ school homies - that I didn’t realize I could find, without looking.
This is where trauma gets tricky…and don’t get me wrong. I ain’t no doctor…but I have dealt with it personally, so I am breaking it down - from the opposite kind of angle. Sometimes we have more than we even know. And sometimes the hurt feels so strongly, that some of the bad portions start slowly creeping up. You guys…in the midst of my wildest-fucking-break-down, I basically mind-mapped the darkest_days_of_my_past, like the things you are taking to your grave with you (from your rents, that is), and gave it to my dad in an effort of letting him help me pick up the pieces…so jokes on me - or was at first. Now, I am trying to laugh in the humility of the entire awkward experience that we shall never speak about…because that’s how it went in my house. Come back to family now - because, sometimes, when nothing else exists, your family is there holding the pieces and helping you glue them back together.
And that’s actually where I learned how to be so strong. See, crazy story about a super-hero type of man that raised my dad…His name was Edward Hergott and he was my Grandpa. He was a man of few words, at least around me, but he didn’t always have to say very much. And I don’t know the whole story - so long story short, he was honored with a Purple Heart from the time he served with the Army - for basically telling his commanding officer to stand the fuck down - in order to save his troop I never got to say goodbye to him (from cancer years and years later, like well into my life) but I do believe in a certain type of reincarnation, the Disney Moana version of course - and I know if he were still here in some type of way, that he wouldn’t have any question where his Wonder-Woman-n-en granddaughter would end up at.
And that comes back to blood - and some being thicker than others. You don’t have to go out like whatever you are currently at. You can always find a way to grow. To Co-Exist with the other-side. To at the very fucking least, be more understanding of. We all have things that are burning inside of us. We all have things from our past that we are not the most proud of. And we can either live with those things or we can learn to let go of them.
